


Ashes to Flame

by littleboxoflaughter



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Dissociation, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Torture, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Tadashi Hamada Has Issues, by 'issues' I mean a vast array of mental health issues, is a nazi organization and has no redeeming values whatsoever, this is a fun story I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxoflaughter/pseuds/littleboxoflaughter
Summary: Tadashi Hamada didn't die in the fire, but he would call it rescued. For months he's been a prisoner, a scientist, and a lab rat in the clutches of Hydra.Then a masked man with a metal arm shows up and the base goes up in flames. It's the start of a beautiful friendship, two men helping each other hobble down the road to recovery, and one hell of a road trip.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are in effect. Tadashi and James are both dealing with some pretty heavy stuff. Please pay attention to the tagged warnings.

The muted alarms blared to life as the door to Tadashi’s cell was thrown open. He scrambled away from the door, picked himself up off the floor, and backed into a corner. Hands behind his head, eyes down, keep the fire damped down and under control. If he cooperated maybe they wouldn't shoot him to make it easier to drag him around the bunker. He heard a gun click and winced. Extremis healed him but injuries still hurt, so he braced himself for the pain of a bullet. Except it never came. Tadashi glanced up and was relieved to see an armed and masked guard instead of a white-coated scientist. And when had guns become preferable to needles? (Smoke in his lungs. Fire in his veins. Burnt concrete.) Another armed guard stepped up behind the first, this one without a mask. The first guards eyes narrowed. He turned and a knife flashed in his hand. The second guard fell in a bloody heap. The first guard turned back to him, bloody knife still clutched in his hand. Tadashi’s heart was beating hard and fast. 

“Do you want to get out of here or what?” the man asked. Tadashi swallowed and nodded, stepping forwards shakily, carefully not looking at the guard on the floor. (An extra protein bar on his tray after a beating. A kick in the stomach during that beating.)

“Why are you helping me?” Tadashi asked just loudly enough to be heard over the screaming alarms. His rescuer put a finger up to his mouth- or at least, to the mask covering it. Tadashi didn’t speak again as the man lead him out of the sterile white halls, up the narrow staircase, and out a door marked “Service Entrance” next to an elevator in a parking garage. 

Tadashi stood in the doorway for a moment, stunned. He didn’t know how many months (years?) it had been since he’d set foot outside. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d taken a breath of fresh air. Now, he did both and it felt so good. Even here, on what the signs on the wall told him was the second basement of a parking garage, the air was fresher than the cell he’d spent most of his time in for the last months. Years? How long had it been? Tadashi ran his fingers through his hair. How long had it been? 

“Hey! Come on!” His rescuer called out to him. Tadashi sprinted to follow. The man led him to a beat up station wagon.  
Gunshots rang out through the enclosed space. Several guards had followed them up the staircase. The masked man pushed Tadashi's head down and started the car engine, throwing them into gear to whip around in the parking lot. Tadashi spotted a gun on the floor, poking out from under the seat. Before he had time to think his way out of the stupid idea he grabbed it, checked the clip, pushed the safety off, and popped up in his seat. Right in time to take a bullet in his shoulder. He cried out. The masked man grabbed the gun from his hand. The car blasted through the flimsy toll booth in a hail of bullets. 

When they were several miles down the highway, the man removed his mask and turned to Tadashi.  
“You okay?” He asked, his voice low and gruff. Tadashi winced, glancing at the patch of skin slowly mending itself beneath the hole in his shirt.  
“Yeah.” He replied, “Just a scratch.” 

*

The dingy motel room the man (James) had checked them into was an improvement on the last few months.  
Tadashi spared only a second to think about how sad that was before he hurried to the bathroom. Hot water seemed about as real to him as dragons. The shower curtain smelled of mildew, but Tadashi didn’t care. The dirt and grime from months of captivity trickled down the drain as the air filled with steam and the sharp scent of strong soap. He smiled as he wrapped a slightly scratchy towel around himself, feeling fresh and clean for the first time in forever. 

Then he caught sight of the mirror.  
Tadashi yelped and almost tripped over his own two feet. For a split second he had thought that there was someone else in the room with him. Then the door crashed open and there was.  
James’ eyes scanned the room, then he lowered his gun and turned to a shocked and slightly embarrassed Tadashi wearing nothing but a towel.  
“I… I thought I saw somebody.” Tadashi stuttered, “But it was just the mirror.”  
James just nodded. “It happens.” He said, holstering his gun. “I’ve got clean clothes for you.” He left and returned a moment later with a wad of black cloth that he dropped on the floor without further comment. Tadashi gratefully pulled on the black shirt and pants before he risked another glance at the mirror. A stranger stood in front of him, cheeks wan and hollow from not enough food or sunlight. His hair was long and shaggy in a way that looked unkempt and wild rather than casual. And his eyes. Oh his eyes looked old. He could barely meet his own gaze to see his haunted expression and the dark circles etched into his face. He was so tired. So very tired. And he couldn't stand looking at ''tis sad stranger anymore. 

Tadashi exited the bathroom and was hit in the face by the intoxicatingly familiar smell of hot coffee. A Styrofoam cup sat on top of the microwave next to a protein bar and a bag of donuts.  
“We’ll make a chow run when we stop for gas tomorrow. I’ve got enough rations to last until then.” James said. Tadashi didn’t notice. He remembered coffee. He remembered the smell of the Lucky Cat Café and all-nighters and seven am classes. He remembered bringing an old, temperamental coffee pot down to the garage and hooking it up. He remembered the smell of coffee mixed with the plastic from the 3D printer, the sharp smell of oil and lubricant, and greasy pizza boxes. He had worked so hard to forget, to keep himself from hoping. It had been so long since Tadashi had let himself remember what home felt like. Now it crashed over him like a wave on the shore. Oh God he missed it. But he caught himself before he started to hope again.  
“Is it safe?” he asked, “If I went home, would my family be safe?”  
There was a long silence.  
“I can’t promise that. Not until I know more about why Hydra wanted you. However, there are people who can protect your family. You might not be able to go back right now, but it’s completely possible that you will.”  
Tadashi drank his coffee, letting both it and his fiercely determined hope warm him from the inside out.

*

Tadashi woke up screaming. He coughed on the particles filling the air around him and, for a moment, feared that he was back in the fire again. Then, the air began to clear and he realized that it wasn’t smoke in the air. He looked up to see a very shocked James standing above him with a fire extinguisher. Tadashi winced and looked back down at his charred clothes and ashy bedcovers. 

“I can explain.” He said tiredly.  
James rolled his eyes and turned to the duffel bag. “No time for that.” He growled, throwing more clothes at Tadashi. These didn’t smell quite as fresh as the first set had, but it was better than walking around in the buff. Or trying to salvage the ratty scraps that he’d been rescued in. 

“You gonna blow up the car?” James asked, hoisting a bag over his shoulder.  
“Wha—no. No, I can control it when I’m awake.” Tadashi explained as he pulled the shirt over his head. 

“Good.” James grunted, “Come on.”  
After an hour of riding in silence, James asked “What the hell was that?” At first Tadashi thought he had imagined it. James’ brief but penetrating glare told him otherwise.

“That was Extremis,” He said with a weary sigh, “combined with a dormant X-gene. At first, they kept me in a room made of metal. I melted through the floor one night. It was all concrete and stone after that.” “Is that why they took you?” James asked. Tadashi laughed. It was bitter and burned on its way up.

“No. I don’t know why they took me originally. After Extremis activated my X-gene, their plans changed along with me. Now, I’m never working with anyone who uses test animals.” He crossed his arms over his chest with a shiver.

~

Tadashi pulled neckline of his shirt up to cover his mouth as he coughed. His eyes watered in the smoke. “Professor Callaghan!” he croaked out, searching through the dimly glowing haze for his mentor. A staccato beat of sharp cracks pierced the sweltering air around him. He stumbled towards the sound. “Professor!” Tadashi halted as he turned a corner and saw them. Men with guns faced a black metal sphere. One of them spotted Tadashi. Suddenly all of the guns were pointed at him, then as one, they lowered their weapons and surged towards him. Tadashi turned to run, but an explosion near the door lifted him off his feet and threw him towards the gunmen. He felt the searing pain of the fire as it licked greedily at him, then his head hit the ground and the world was black. 

He didn’t remember when the haze of smoke ended and the haze of semi-consciousness began. The blackness around him grew slightly less black and occasionally the glint of metal or a flash of yellow would penetrate the darkness. Then he was waking up, gasping for breath and screaming in pain. Voices buzzed in his ears and someone covered his mouth with something. The world was black again. 

The next time he woke, it was to cool air on his face. Blearily, Tadashi opened his eyes. He saw the gray of stone and concrete instead of the haze of smoke. There was pain, but it felt as though the pain belonged to someone else. He tried to move and, at first thought that his muscles were not responding. As his mind cleared, and he took in his surroundings, Tadashi realized that he was strapped to an inclined metal table, held in place by restraints around his legs, arms, and shoulders. A man with a clipboard and a lab coat stood in front of him, recording the readouts from several large machines that Tadashi recognized as hospital grade monitoring equipment. The man looked up at him and smiled. 

“Oh good. You’re awake. There is much more data to be gathered if the subject is conscious.” 

Tadashi didn’t have very long to be confused. The man jabbed a needle into his arm and then left without another word. 

Tadashi was burning again. This time the fire was metaphorical, but it raced through his veins and threatened to eat him from the inside out. He didn’t know how long he stood there, strapped to a slab of metal, but it felt like days. The pain only grew, crescendo-ing until his awareness blurred into white hot oblivion. There was a sudden surge of agony and he could swear he smelled smoke again before he drifted into blessed unconsciousness.

The concrete room had burned. The walls and floor and one particularly splotchy circle on the ceiling were scorched. Medical equipment lay melted in a heap next to him. The door slammed open and the room filled with scientists in labcoats and yellow hazmat suits. The man from earlier grinned at him. 

“Excellent, Mr. Hamada. Absolutely superb. No one has ever survived rejection before. We will be watching your progress with great interest.” 

The man’s clipboard burst into flames. Tadashi stared in horror. A needle stabbed his arm and everything faded. Again.

~

James winced inwardly. This kid wasn’t like him. He could tell. The boy was good. He had a kind heart that had remained untainted by Hydra’s machinations. James had no such delusions about himself. (Red in my ledger) the phrase popped into his head. Like many things, he had no recollection of it. 

(With you to the end of the line) 

Silently, he calculated the miles that lay between them and New York City and sighed. Too many. Not enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. This has been a long time coming.

“Who even are you?”   
The question hung heavy in the air. For half an hour, the silence had only been muffled by softly playing mariachi music coming from the radio.   
“Not that I'm not grateful, but why did you come for me? How did you even know I was in there?” Tadashi asked.   
James glanced at him briefly, opened his mouth and closed it, shifted his jaw a bit; it looked like he was practicing forming words.   
“I didn't know you were there until I got there.” The words were spoken as a matter of fact- not cruel or kind, just objective. “When I started sorting through their files to see which floor to hit first, I saw your cell label. Asset.” James clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, “Nobody deserves that.” 

James’ brain hurt from the remembering. He told the kid (Tadashi, not punk, not jerk) about hunting Hydra cells, about the Asset- still in his brain, still in his hands, still on his hands and ohgodwouldthebloodevercomeout- breathe.   
James didn't tell Tadashi about the picture in the younger man's file next to the word ‘Asset’. A man, just barely not a boy, too skinny too scrawny and outmatched. Glaring into the camera. Piercing brown (blue) eyes and mouth drawn into a resigned line that just had to be hurting the already split lip. (“I could do this all day.”) Instead he turned off at the first populated exit and pulled into a parking lot. 

James was breathing heavily when they pulled into the IHOP parking lot.   
“Are you okay?” Tadashi asked hesitantly, rolling his eyes afterwards, “Sorry, stupid question. What can I do to help?”   
James paused for a moment. He looked surprised.   
“I need out of the car, and to not have to do the talking.” He said quietly. Tadashi nodded.   
“I can do that.” he said, opening the door.   
The hostess welcomed them with a tired smile and led them to a booth near the back of the empty dining room. She left them with iced water and silverware to peruse their laminated menus and get settled. James barely glanced at his before setting it aside to slowly start picking his napkin apart.   
Tadashi looked over his menu for a few minutes, salivating at the thought of french toast and strawberries, but forced himself to remember his meager diet of glop for the past year and ordered scrambled eggs and toast with oatmeal on the side.   
James pointed to a stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and sprinkles. Tadashi pushed down resentment until James hid a smirk behind his glass of orange juice when the waitress left. He should have known then, should have guessed. It shouldn't have taken him another week to figure out that James was a little shit. 

The kid (Tadashi) was nothing like Steve. Steve was clenched fists and tiny-huge???? hugs, split lip jutting out in righteous indignation (the idiot) and the sound of wheezing coughs in the middle of the night. Tadashi was a hard-set jawline and narrowed eyes, hair ruffled by his own hands running through it in frustration. The smell of ashes mixing with the sound of gasping awake from nightmares. Tadashi was quiet desperation and firmly immovable resolve. Just like Steve. 

The landscape around them changed slowly as they drove eastward, a gradient from rolling hills to endless cornfields punctuated by small towns. The closer they drew to the eastern seaboard, the tighter the knot in James’ stomach grew. The Asset grumbled in his brain that there was no reason to be nervous about proximity to the Mission, but they both knew that Steve was unprecedented and responses around him became unpredictable (“Punk” “Jerk”) and defined parameter tended to shift. (“To the end of the line”) (“Thought you were shorter”)   
Ultimately, he would have to avoid Steve if he wanted to avoid the uncomfortable buzzing in his head that accompanied the debilitating rush of memory and feeling that felt too much like a rewrite to be any kind of relief. Maybe someday he would be able to fill the holes in his brain enough that looking at that face wouldn’t feel quite so much like a gut wound. 

They changed cars every few days, and took the longest most circuitous routes available. Tadashi still found himself looking over his shoulder whenever they left the relative safety of their vehicle.   
“You haven’t told me where exactly you’re taking me.” Tadashi said, breaking the silence. James’ hands tightened on the steering wheel.   
“No. I didn’t.”   
Tadashi felt the familiar urge to scream. It was like dealing with pre-Expo Hiro all over again.   
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Tadashi asked. James was silent. Tadashi could almost hear him weighing the pros and cons.   
“New York” he finally said, “There are people there who can keep you safe. Safer.”  
Tadashi perked up. “Who? Can they keep my family safe too? Will I be able to go home?”   
James’ flesh hand tightened on the steering wheel. He hated how fast Tadashi got his hopes up.   
“I don’t know. But it’s the best chance I can think of.” 

Hydra caught up to them just outside Pittsburgh. They had stopped for a bite to eat at Denny’s early in the morning. One minute Tadashi was eating his pancakes, and the next minute found him ducking behind the table James had flipped as a busboy pulled a gun on them. Two waitresses joined the busboy in opening fire and Tadashi was quietly panicking. Their enemies had positioned themselves in front of the exits. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t.   
James threw a chair through the window and launched Tadashi after it. The bushes outside broke his fall and left him with rapidly healing scrapes all over his arms and face. A line cook burst out the kitchen door, knife in hand and raced towards Tadashi.   
It was a reflexive response to throw his hands up. Fire blasted from his palms, scorching his attackers apron and causing him to hesitate. The hesitation was all James needed to burst through the window and tackle the cook. They rolled across the lot, and James was the only one to rise and run to the car. Tadashi jumped into the passenger seat as James turned the key in the ignition. As they peeled out of the lot, Tadashi threw a ball of fire at a nearby lamppost, which buckled and fell across the parking lot exit behind them.   
-  
Steve groaned as he reached over to grab his ringing phone off of the nightstand.   
“‘Lo?”  
“Good morning, Captain.” Jarvis greeted him, “I have detected certain patterns in Hydra related activity that you asked to be informed of.”  
Steve sat up, suddenly awake “Yeah?”  
“Yes, Captain. I believe I have located Sergeant Barnes.”


End file.
